The Name is Bell, Katie Bell
by katdance666
Summary: A frustrated Katie Bell endeavors to persuade her stubborn quidditch captain that she in fact HAS a first name, and that he should use it upon occasion, only to find that she quite prefers the alternative when it comes down to it… KBOW oneshot. review?


Author's Note: So this is half to prove to readers of MM and MoaQT that I am still alive and writing (ahem. kind of…), and half because I started it ages ago and wanted to finish it due to a considerable lack of writing since the start of my school year. (Blame the musical.) So here we go…

-K

Disclaimer: If I were the almighty J.K. Rowling herself, do you really think I'd disclaim (slash write) these stories? I WOULD ALREADY OWN ALL THE LEGAL LISCENSES AND CRAP, for Merlin's sake! But I'm not, so I don't. sniff. Oh, and the title is James Bond-oid.

The Name is Bell. _Katie_, Bell.

Katie frowned at the red ball clutched in her small hands, loathing it deeply.

Of course, she had no idea why she suddenly felt such a surge of anger towards the sphere that had, not so long ago, been her most treasured companion. Well, one of them, anyway… She furrowed her eyebrows as she tried to figure it out.

Her annoyance probably wasn't anything school-related, as the Hogwarts students were currently on a break for Easter.

And it most certainly wasn't to do with her family, as she hadn't seen them since she had said goodbye to them on Platform 9 and 3/4s at the beginning of the school year… This could be most gratefully blamed on some psycho quidditch-nut, who had insisted that the entire Gryffindor Quidditch Team remain steadfastly at school for the holidays and some "much-needed practice". Said psychopath had also, on occasion, insisted that they refrain from accompanying their classmates on rare –and therefore much anticipated- Hogsmeade trips, arguing that they desperately needed that day's practice if they were to win the Quidditch Cup that year. Of course, these unwelcome interruptions had been put a stop to –thankfully, in most of the team's opinions- by the delightful young beaters of the team.

Katie had long ago decided that she would much rather remain ignorant to the means by which the twins had achieved this result (though she couldn't help but notice that, for the next few practices after their "little chat" with the Captain, said very attractive person had remained pointedly grounded, and walked with a little bit of a wince…)

Yuck, Katie thought, now shaking her head at the quaffle in her hands. Those Weasley twins are CRAZY.

Maybe, now that she thought about it, her anger _was_ about the quaffle. Or perhaps something the quaffle was related to, as it seemed rather silly to be angry with a ball…

Quaffles, eh? she thought. Quaffles and… QUIDDITCH! They're related…

But she couldn't hate quidditch! Most definitely not; she flipping loved the sport! So maybe the quidditch also stood for something else…

So, thought Katie, now drumming her fingertips on the sphere in her lap. When quidditch-like thoughts slipped into her mind (as they so often tended to), what could she never escape the related thought of?

And then it came to her. Oliver!

Yes, that must be it, she thought triumphantly at the shudder of annoyance that trembled through her at the mere contemplation of his name. But surely there had to be something more specific –an odd habit or quirk, perhaps- that was inducing her sudden ill-feelings towards the rugged Scot…

"Bell! Are you going to sit there _glaring_ at the quaffle for the rest of practice, or are you planning to _throw_ the ruddy thing before the turn of the century?!"

And there it was.

Katie pondered this conclusion as she turned her glare to her Quidditch Captain and lobbed the ball at his head. He caught it –DAMN HIS KEEPER REFLEXES!- and matched her fierce stare with a "you'll stay after practice, Bell", then returning his attention to the quaffle and passing it on to Angelina.

She ground her teeth together so hard that she suspected there would be nothing left but a large pile of tooth-dust.

He had said it again! That monosyllabic brute of a word! (Or, coincidentally, her last name. Albeit the last name that could be easily made into a hundred different puns, each more annoying than the last, and most of them coming from HIM anyway, but her last name nonetheless.)

It was as if he didn't even know she _had_ a first name, let alone what it was!

Sure, he addressed the other team members by their last names most of the time too, but he had used all of their first names at least once before; sometimes on numerous occasions.

Take the Weasley twins, for instance. Since being told (by HER) that he could tell them apart by the scar just above Fred's left eyebrow, he had always addressed them up close by their separate names (just to make sure they weren't going to try anything). She had received no more than a "nice one, Bell" for her troubles.

And then there was the time when Oliver had let Alicia off practice because her pet dog had died, and he had said "sorry Alicia. My dog died when I was eight; I loved that little guy…" Then Katie had argued "That's not fair! My second cousin twice removed's boyfriend's cat died last month, and it _look_ed like a dog, and I _still_ didn't get the practice off!". Oliver had simply replied "Nice try Bell" and kept her after practice.

Harry was called 'Harry' whenever he made a good, game-winning capture of the snitch (which was practically every game, dammit!). Katie could catch the quaffle in her teeth and get nothing more than "you do know you won't be able to get away with stuff like that in any of the games, Bell?"

Plus, he would call Angelina by her first name whenever they got into one of their "no, Angelina, you can't run practice until I'm gone" debates (which was at least once a week). All Katie ever got was "no, Bell, you can't miss practice because you haven't finished your supper or your homework. You should manage your time more carefully." She got that one at least every other day.

Katie received the quaffle as quite a surprise, and tossed it haphazardly in Oliver's direction.

"Bell! Focus, or it will be dawn one-on-ones for a month!"

She did some more glaring in response.

Honestly, she was rather hurt that Oliver had never used her first name. It was like he didn't care about her as much as he did about the rest of the team; like she was the one let-down, or the least-likeable, or something... (which, being the charming human-being that she was, Katie believed to be quite out of the question. At least, she _hope_d it was quite out of the question…)

Her thoughts were finally interrupted for good by the quaffle, again arriving in front of her as quite a shock. This time, however, her reflexes did not serve her as well as they should have, and she completely missed the ball, which proceeded to smack her squarely in the face, and caused her to fall off her broom, her nose bleeding heavily.

Fortunately, they had been hovering only a meter or two from the ground, but the impact of hitting the ground still winded her and created a rather sickening thud. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she ignored the hands being offered by her concerned teammates to help her up, and instead dragged her bleeding self to her feet, and stormed off the pitch towards the girls change rooms to confused cries of "Katie?" from most, and "Bell?" from one.

This, being heard from the edge of the pitch, combined with the pain, was too much for Katie to take, but she managed to hold the tears back until she had actually stepped inside the change rooms. Then, she sobbed. She didn't really understand why she cared so much that Oliver didn't use her first name; she just knew it mattered. To her. It just did. And catching sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, face covered with a mixture of blood and snot and salty tears, just increased the rate at which the water fell from her eyes.

It must have been fifteen-or-so minutes (the time at which practice should have been about ending), before Katie heard the door to the change-room open, and a muffled call of "Bell?" come softly from the doorway. She tried to silence herself and to stop the tears, but this only resulted in more tears a second later, and her choking on the mix of snot and bile in her mouth.

His footsteps were approaching her hiding place in the large bathroom, where she was curled up on a bench. And then there was the creaking of the old wooden door, and the footsteps continued until she could hear him breathing, just above her.

Katie couldn't even open her eyes, but it didn't really matter, because she wouldn't have been able to face looking at him anyway.

But she could hear him moving within a few seconds later. His footsteps had traveled over to the wall that held the three sinks, and then were drained out by a tap he must have put on. She heard him stop running the tap, and then a steady slosh of water as his footsteps approached her bench again.

She could feel his warm breath on her face now, and the flow of her tears was slowing.

Then she felt a trickle of warm –clean and not bodily-fluid-like- water down her neck and shivered. He was gently daubing her face with a damp cloth to free it from the messy remnants of blood and crying.

Within five more minutes, she could open her eyes (though she carefully looked anywhere except at his face). His knees were clearly visible when she looked down; he was kneeling beside her, still trying to clean up the last of the blood. And then he spoke.

"I don't think your nose is broken. You'll just have a bit of a bruise in the morning."

Katie finally managed her first noise –other than that of her crying- for twenty minutes.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

Then she tried to sit up, and she became dizzy and her vision fogged, causing her to almost fall backwards off the bench, but Oliver caught her by the arm and made sure she was steadily seated before telling her to scoot over, and joining her.

He sighed and said "So now are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Katie cleared her throat and managed to lie; "Nothing. I just didn't want to practice, and then I got hit with a ball, that's all."

She groaned inwardly at herself. Okay, so maybe it wasn't her _best_ lie, but it was all she had right now, so she'd take it.

He raised an eyebrow and pointed out that she'd "have to do better than that".

Katie tried to cry indignantly "it's true", but even she could hear it wasn't very convincing.

Oliver snorted and said "just tell me, Bell."

So Katie snapped. She leapt up from the bench, quite startling Oliver, her voice breaking as she yelled "IT'S THAT!"

He looked taken aback but quietly asked "what?"

"THAT, THAT… WORD! IT'S ALWAYS BELL-THIS, BELL-THAT. I HATE IT! DO YOU EVEN _KNOW_ MY FIRST NAME?"

Oliver looked positively shocked by now, and started to say "Of course I-", but Katie cut right across him, starting to pace back and forth.

"I DON'T EVEN KNOW _WHY _IT BOTHERS ME SO MUCH! IT'S JUST… YOU NEVER CALL ME BY MY FIRST NAME. EVER! YOU CALL EVERYONE ELSE BY _THEIR_ FIRST NAMES. IT'S LIKE YOU CARE MORE ABOUT THEM, OR YOU JUST DON'T LIKE ME AS MUCH OR SOMETHING-"

Oliver looked genuinely sorry, but Katie had sat down on the cold stone floor, leaning against the wall and staring at her shoes. Before he could speak, she lowered her voice and said, more calmly this time, "And I don't really understand it. I mean, I play quidditch, most of your friends are my friends too –especially the team, I have good personal hygiene-" (by this point, Oliver was starting to grin), "-most of the time, at least, and I'm a nice person and fun to be around…"

"And modest, too," he said with a laugh. But, noticing that this was distressing her more, and that her eyes were starting to fill up again, Oliver got up and walked over to where she sat, looking very forlorn. He slid down beside her and took one of her hands in his;

"Look. I don't call you 'Bell' because I don't like you as much as the rest of the team, or because I don't care about you. If anything, it's the complete opposite. No one else just calls you 'Bell'. That's always made it special to me; something that connects the two of us, and _just_ the two of us."

Katie held her breath as she listened to him, her anger slowly ebbing away, _far_ away, and leaving only deep affection for the boy sitting beside her.

"It reminds me of your laugh, actually," he continued, his eyes twinkling honestly and nicely. "The first time I heard you laugh –at try-outs, before I knew your name- I thought it sounded like tinkling bells. It was the nicest sound in the world. But I didn't know you felt like that, Katie-" here, she exhaled sharply. It was what she'd wanted for ages, but now that she'd got it, after hearing all of that, it didn't feel as good as she'd thought it would. In fact, she felt rather guilty for yelling at him the way she had, especially after he'd been so nice to her when she was bleeding and crying. "-so I can stop if you want." Oliver finished.

He looked at her for a response, but her gaze didn't move from her brown laces.

Then, finally, she turned to face him and said, smiling, "Maybe it's not so bad after all."

And, she thought later, while unceremoniously scooping frog intestines off the ceiling and into a bucket during the detention they'd got for being caught snogging in the bathroom of the girl's changerooms, by Filch, it really wasn't.


End file.
